I am mad with love
And no one understands my plight.
Only the wounded
Understand the agonies of the wounded,
Do not leave me alone, a helpless woman.
My strength, my crown,
I am empty of virtues,
You, the ocean of them.
Nothing is really mine except Krishna.
O my parents, I have searched the world
And found nothing worthy of love.
Hence I am a stranger amidst my kinfolk
The plums tasted
sweet to the unlettered desert-tribe girl-
but what manners! To chew into each! She was ungainly,
low-caste, ill mannered and dirty,
I have found a guru in Raidas, he has
given me the pill of knowledge.
I send letters to my Beloved,
The dear Krishna.
But He sends no message of reply,
Purposely preserving silence.
Listen, my friend, this road is the heart opening,
kissing his feet, resistance broken, tears all night.
If we could reach the Lord through immersion in water,
Take my arm
and keep up your promise!
They call you the refugeless refuge,
they call you redeemer of outcasts.
Dark Friend, what can I say?
This love I bring
from distant lifetimes is ancient,
do not revile it.
I am pale with longing for my beloved;
People believe I am ill.
Seizing on every possible pretext,
I try to meet him 'by accident.'